


As I Lay Me Down to Sleep

by gehddit



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gehddit/pseuds/gehddit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is going on with Reid and Morgan is not going to let it slide-- a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Lay Me Down to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN THIS SERIES/THESE CHARACTERS. Which is probably for the best because creative control over these two would be dangerous.

                Morgan jars awake, scratchy sheets trapping his legs together and his phone screaming for attention on the night stand. 

                “Morgan.” His voice is rough, but he’s alert —a life in law enforcement making it easier to wake up than fall asleep.

                “We have another one. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.” 

                “Got it.” Freeing himself from his sheets, he snatches a t-shirt from his suitcase, phone held tight between his ear and shoulder. 

                “And stop by Reid’s room on your way. He’s not picking up.”

                The screen of his phone lights, informing him the conversation is over and he shakes his head in amusement at Hotch’s unfailing charm.  Making the short trip across the hall, Morgan raises his hand to knock when he hears the shower running and understands why Reid wasn’t answering his phone.   He slips Reid’s extra key card out of his wallet, the approving beep playing him into the room and he lets out a breath of laughter at the mess he is so unsurprised to discover Reid has already made.  Maneuvering through the clutter, he perches his shoulder against the bathroom door just as the water shuts off.

                 “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.  No time for grooming now Pretty Boy, you know I’ll think you’re beautiful no matter what.” Morgan’s grinning, wishing he could see the look on Reid’s face.

                “You stole one of my keys again.” It’s a tired accusation, Reid expecting nothing less. “Could you pass me my clothes? They’re on the bed.”

                “Mr. Shy Guy, huh?” Morgan laughs as he grabs Reid’s sweater and button down from their motel’s excuse for a mattress.  After taking a second to glance around for some pants he guesses Reid brought them in with him. “You know it ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

                 He opens the bathroom door, about to toss Reid his outfit when Morgan catches a glimpse of him in the mirror and stills.  There is a pair of khakis strapped tight to his waist with a brown leather belt and above that a thin, pale torso _covered_ from hip to shoulders in scratch marks. He pushes the door open, stepping into the bathroom and looking over Reid in astonishment.  Worry lines crease his forehead as Reid brings his arms up in a vain attempt to cover the markings.  Some of the scratches are deep enough to scar and all of them look like they drew blood.

                 “Reid—

                “Morgan don’t.”  He hunches his shoulders, making himself as small as possible.

                “What the hell man—?”

                “My clothes.” It’s a failed command, his voice frail and shaking, and it tugs at something deep in Morgan.

                 He tosses the requested articles to Reid, keeping a measured distance, but not even giving a thought to leaving the room.  Reid grabs at them with one hand, still trying to keep himself covered with the other.  There’s a pause, as though he’s hoping Morgan will at least turn around, but he just crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the sink, getting comfortable. Letting out a sigh, he quickly yanks on the button down, his thin fingers push-pulling the buttons into place.  The sweater proves to be more difficult however.  In his rush to be fully dressed he somehow manages to trap an arm in one of the sleeves, his head still stuck somewhere in the middle, muffled grunts voicing his frustration.

                Something hot runs from Morgan’s chest to his gut and nests there, making him itch.  One step forward brings him into Reid’s space, putting his hand through the sleeve and wrapping it around Reid’s wrist.  His other hand holding the bottom hem of the sweater still, Morgan slowly draws Reid’s arm through his sleeve while pulling the sweater into place over Reid’s stomach.  He can’t help but smile at the kid’s rumpled form, one hand still enclosing a wrist, Morgan brings the other up to smooth Reid’s hair back into place.

                 “Some genius.” It comes out too light, out of place. 

                “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself.” Reid is shifting under him, tugging his arm from Morgan’s grip and batting the hand in his hair away with his free hand. 

                “Yeah I can see that.” Hands raised in surrender, Morgan moves back to his perch on the sink.  Reid simply huffs again in response, bringing his arms back over his chest, his eyes locking on the floor like he’s going to be tested on it. “You gotta talk to me man.  You just getting into some kinky sex—?”

                “Morgan!” Reid’s tone is hard and his blush a _deep,_ deep red burning across his face. He’s pushing himself back, tighter into the wall as if he needs more space, but Morgan has given up all the ground he’s willing and takes a very intentional step forward.

                “I’m serious, because if that’s it then that’s it and we can be done talking about it, but something tells me that’s not it.” He’s willing Reid to look at him, nails biting into his palms as he balls them into fists.

                “It’s not—” Reid’s gaze flicks along the cold tile as if an explanation might be written there, “It’s not on purpose.”

                Morgan can’t hold himself back anymore, placing both hands on Reid’s shoulders, he gives the kid a gentle shake.

                “Hey, I don’t think you’re cutting yourself, but it’s not enough that I know what this _isn’t_.  You need to tell me what’s going on with you, because this—” his hand cuts a path over Reid’s upper body, “I can’t let slide.” Morgan’s jaw ticks at what he knows he has to ask next or, more accurately, at what the answer might be.    “Did—” He needs to keep himself in check. “Reid, did someone do this to you?”

                He manages to sound almost placid, but knows Reid will see right through it.  Shock causes Reid’s eyes to nearly double in size, shaking his head determinedly.

                “No! Morgan, god no! I— I’m so sorry you even thought— it’s nothing like that.” He’s earnest, his grip on himself slackening as he searches Morgan’s face to ensure his truth has settled there.

                “All right, all right.  If that’s what you’re telling me, then I trust you.  But if this isn’t someone else, and you’re not doing it to yourself, then what is it?”

                “You trust me?” Reid’s arms are fixed back in place around himself.

                “You know I do.”  Morgan’s hands slide up Reid’s shoulders to the sides of his neck, giving a light squeeze of encouragement.

                “Then trust that I’m handling it.” Reid steps in closer, as though attempting to press his assurances into Morgan with the tightened proximity.   Morgan’s hands drop in disappointment and he gives his head a small shake.

                “I’d never want to force you into a conversation you don’t want to have—” Reid snorts, but Morgan continues on, ignoring him, “but you’re going to have to talk to someone about this.  I don’t care if it’s not me. It can be Prentiss, it can be Hotch, whoever, but it has to be today man, ‘cause from the looks of you this can’t wait.” His phone rings, a shock of reality in this private space they’d accumulated between them. He doesn’t have to check the caller ID to know it’s Hotch wondering where they are.

                Bringing the phone to his ear, he assures him that they’re on their way while opening the bathroom door for Reid, jerking his head in silent command. Reid steps out, grabbing his bag.  His bag that is apparently more important to take into the bathroom than his clothes. Morgan gives his head another shake before following Reid out. 

 

                “Her ring finger is missing like the others, but she wasn’t married.” Rossi is looking through her wallet, hoping to find even a fragment of a connection between this woman and the other murders.

                “He could be devolving. Maybe she was a victim of opportunity.”  Morgan surveys the street, taking in the picket fences and neatly kept yards.  People undoubtedly feel safe here; if this is where she was killed the Unsub took her completely by surprise.

                “We still can’t rule out an association with the other victims. She could be a friend, someone who knew about one of their affairs?” Prentiss shrugs.  The possibilities are virtually endless at this point.

                “There’s no use speculating until we know more.  Prentiss, you and Rossi talk to the first husband again, make sure there isn’t anything he’s neglected to tell us.  Morgan, Reid, go back to the station and see where she might have come into contact with any of our victims.  J.J. and I will look over her apartment.”

                Breaking away into their separate groups, Morgan throws an arm over Reid’s shoulder, about to call Garcia when he feels Reid flinch hard against his side.  The body under him stiffens instantly, Reid knowing he had felt it and Morgan quickly withdraws his arm. Reid sways toward him for a moment, appearing to be attached to Morgan’s arm by a string before he takes a wide step back, away from him.

                “Did I hurt you?” Morgan can’t help but picture pale skin marked red and his mind races with all of the times he had touched Reid in the past few days, an arm over his shoulder, a pat on his stomach. How had he not picked up on anything?

                “Don’t worry about it.” Reid begins moving towards the car again, clearly thinking that marked the end of their conversation.

                 Luckily enough Morgan knows how to walk and talk.

                “Nothing’s gonna stop me from worrying about it, what I asked is did I hurt you?” His patience is beginning to slip. He knows that the rise in his temper has more to do with how angry he is with himself than how Reid is acting, but it certainly isn’t helping.

                “I’m fine okay? I’m fine!  You don’t have to treat me like some victim; I am not going to break.” Reid practically throws himself into the passenger’s seat, slamming the door behind him. 

                Morgan takes a deep breath before allowing himself to climb into the car.  He looks over at Reid, getting ready to speak when Reid actually physically turns his back to him.  Deeper breath.  Pulling away from the curb, he watches Reid as well as he can while still keeping his eyes on the road.

                “You need to understand that as mad as you are right now, you’re not giving me any reason _not_ to worry about it.  And the angrier and more closed off you get the more worried I’m gonna be.” He wants to pull over, to stop and actually talk about this, but with a fourth body on their hands there just isn’t time.  

                Reid has been watching Morgan right back, eyes slanted over his shoulder and he finally moves to sit fully forward, head tilted back against his seat. He looks exhausted.  Morgan’s knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. 

                “I am taking care of it. You have to trust me.”  

                “You keep saying that, but Reid when it comes to shit like this, you don’t exactly have the greatest track record.” Reid whips his head around, pushing himself upright in his seat and Morgan can’t remember if he’s ever seen Reid this angry.

                “You can’t seriously be thinking this has something to do with that?” It comes out all in one breath, like he was finished with the question before he had even begun to ask it.

                 And Morgan _hadn’_ t been thinking that, at least not consciously.  He was more focused on Reid’s habit of burying an issue until it seeps into his work, punctures holes in his relationships and just generally spirals out of control. But now that Reid has brought it up the similarity in his behavior now versus then completely blindsides him.  Avoidant, exhausted— his bag in the bathroom…

                God _damn it_ , some fucking profiler.   He has always had full confidence in Reid as far as his addiction is concerned.  Despite how cryptic Reid had been, he knows Reid had handled it, is handling it.  Unless he isn’t. Most people relapse at some point in their recovery, it happens every minute of every day and though Reid may not be most people he’s still human. 

                “Are you gonna give me a reason not to?” It’s the wrong answer.

                 Reid’s shoulders slump and he pulls his feet up onto his seat, eyes drifting to the window, unseeing.  Morgan matches his silence, not trusting himself to speak.  He can hear his teeth grinding against one another, feel the knots forming in his shoulders and doesn’t think he takes a real breath until he steps out of the car. 

                He nods to the few detectives that are still at the station, the perfect combination of the hour and there being so many officers patrolling the street leaving the place nearly empty.  Reid heads straight for the small corner office they were given to work in, acknowledging no one, the door shutting heavily behind him.

                Making his way over to the coffee pot, Morgan takes his time.  There’s a case to work, there are women being murdered in the street, but neither he nor Reid will be of any use to anyone in the state they’re in.  Emptying the last of the sugar packets into Reid’s cup, Morgan pushes his way through the door to their office and the heat that had settled at a steady thrum since they left the motel flares to the surface. 

                Reid is sitting on the couch, open file on his lap, head slanted back and mouth wide open, dead asleep.  Morgan fights a smile, setting down the coffee cups and moving Reid’s file to a stack on the table.  As gently as he can manage, he slips a hand behind Reid’s head, the other supporting his shoulder while he quietly shifts him to a more comfortable position lying flat on the couch.  He remains there for a moment, the weight of Reid’s head in his hand anchoring him.  His hair is splayed across the cushion, his clothes as rumpled as ever and Morgan lets out a small chuckle.  Carefully sliding his hand out from under Reid’s head, he levers himself up and returns to their files.

                Half way done his second run through of the evidence they had managed to piece together, he'sbeyond ready for a break when he hears a murmur from the other side of the room.  Assuming Reid’s waking up, Morgan turns, a teasing smile lifting the corner of his mouth, but it swiftly drops into a frown.  Reid’s eyes are squeezed shut, his murmurs becoming louder, more audible.

                “I’ll find it. More time, please— no. No!” His hands begin ripping at his chest, making their way under his sweater and tearing at the shirt beneath it.  The movement has Morgan at Reid’s side in an instant, grabbing his forearms and locking them in a vice tight grip.

                “Reid, wake up.” Morgan tries to sound calm, soothing, but Reid only struggles more violently at the contact, his head thrashing back and forth. “Come on man, you’re okay, it’s okay!”

                He bites down on the panic climbing up his throat and heaves Reid upright.  The move backfires.  Reid’s eyes fly open, struggling further in his confusion just as Morgan loses some of his leverage. Grunting in frustration, he flips Reid around, pressing Reid’s back to his chest. 

                With an unyielding hold on him, Morgan speaks directly into Reid’s ear.   “I’ve got you.  You’re safe Reid, I’m here and you’re safe.”  Reid was calming down, clearly gaining his bearings, his breaths coming in slow and heavy.  “That’s it pretty boy, just like that.” 

                He moves his hand over Reid’s rocketing heart, pressing him closer to feel the steady rise and fall of Morgan’s rib cage. 

                “You’ve got it. In.  Out.  That’s right.”

                 Eventually Reid manages to match Morgan’s pace, his heart rate slowing and the tension leaving his muscles.  They sit in silence like that for a moment, Reid tucked against Morgan’s front, before Reid begins to fidget. Morgan’s arm flexes around Reid’s waist.  He’s done putting this off, done letting Reid deflect, letting himself get sidetracked.  He’s done waiting.

                 “What is going on with you?”  Morgan barely recognizes his voice, something about it making him grateful Reid has his back to him. 

                Whatever it is relaxes Reid though as he settles some of his weight back onto Morgan.  “You’re trapped.”  His hands fiddle on his lap, one man thumb war and Morgan frowns.

                “Hey, you’re not trapping me—

                “No, not here— I’m not— it’s a dream.  Well, technically, it’s a nightmare.  You’re trapped. Not just you, J.J. and Hotch and everyone are there and you’re all locked in this room.  It’s just this white, sterile room and at first I try to get in.  Like I just see you guys in there and think ‘I should be in there too,’ but when I touch the door… Gideon is there.”

                “Gideon?” Morgan can’t help but interrupt; he hasn’t heard that name in a long time.

                “I know.” His head tilts further downward.

                “He was a big part of your life Reid, it’d be strange if you _didn’t_ think about him.”  He knows what it’s like to lose a father, but he can’t even imagine what it’s like losing two.

                “He’s there and he tells me it’s inevitable.” The last word cracks in two and Morgan sees a tear sliding down the side of his face.  He waits a full minute before giving Reid an encouraging squeeze.

                “What’s inevitable?”

                “You were all going to die and there was nothing I could do to stop it.”

                “Hey—” Morgan moves to turn him around, but he stiffens, tilting his face away.

                “He said that you were all going to die unless I found the key, but that I would never get it in time.  It was inevitable. We started playing chess and for each piece I took he would give me a clue, but I didn’t understand them, couldn’t figure them out.”  The tears are flowing steadily now and Morgan is nearly shaking with keeping himself still.  “Then he— he says checkmate and suddenly I know, I just know somehow that it’s in my heart.”

                Morgan’s hand twitches against its place on Reid’s chest.

                “Like you knew it all along?” He’s a little taken aback, never having heard Reid speak metaphorically like that.

                “No,” he practically scoffs, managing to sound condescending through a crying fit like only Reid could, “like the key is physically inside of my heart.  So I try to get it out, but I’m never fast enough, never fast enough.”  He’s sobbing, Morgan feeling every shake and gasp rock through him.

                “That’s why you’re scratching yourself?  To get the key?”  Reid has lost so many people in his life, whether they left willingly or not and it’s not a stretch to imagine him clawing his way through his own flesh and bone in order to save the ones he still has.  Reid would give anything and Morgan’s had enough.  He brings the arm around Reid’s waist under his legs, sliding the one on his chest up to his head and spins him so that he’s curled on Morgan’s lap, Reid’s head tucked into the crook of his neck. 

                “We’re safe Reid.  We’re all here and we’re all safe.” His hands are smoothing across Reid’s back, through his hair and over his arms, the only comfort he feels he can provide.

                “I hear you die.  Everyone else is already— but you’re still alive and I have the key, but I can’t get it to you.  I’ve lost too much blood and I just hear you calling out for me and I can’t move.” 

                Reid's hands twist into his t-shirt and Morgan’s eyes squeeze shut as the image of Reid crawling towards him, chest torn open, with his heart in his hand flashes unwillingly into his mind. This isn’t just Reid’s nightmare anymore.  He hears Reid’s breaths begin to calm, the tears slow and the shaking lessens with the release of his burden.

                “Reid you can’t do this to yourself.  There are times when there’s nothing you can do and then there are times when what you can do isn’t worth it.” 

                The fingers twisted in his shirt loosen, Reid shifting away from him.

                “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”  The whispered words are too much, something like panic flooding through him as Reid begins to leverage himself off of Morgan.

                “Don’t.” Morgan barely registers speaking and Reid looks back, astonished.  They’re frozen in place, neither knowing what to make of where they’ve found themselves, Reid practically straddling him in his effort to get off the couch, their faces inches apart. His ringtone explodes through the silence, and both of them jump, Reid throwing himself across the room and Morgan shoving away from his place on the couch. 

                “Morgan.”  His voice is pitched too deep like he’s doing a parody of himself answering the phone.  Reid is standing over the table, shuffling the piles in what Morgan assumes to be an attempt at casual productivity.

                “We’ve got him.” Hotch sounds impatient with himself, those three words having wasted too much time. 

                “Where?”  But they’ve all learned to speak Hotch.

                “St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”  There’s an edge to his statement and Morgan sees red.

                “The priest?”  He barely moves his mouth, furious in a way that keeps his near profound disappointment at bay.

                Reid spins to face him, his expression a reflection of how Morgan’s sure they all feel.

                “He has Stephanie.  We should be there in five.”  Morgan hears the sirens blaring.

                “On our way.”  Reid has already grabbed his bag, tossing Morgan the keys on their way out the door.

                They arrive at the scene to a frenzy of flashing lights, uniforms crisscrossing between cars.  Hotch beat them there as Morgan knew he would, waving them over near the entrance. 

                “He knows we’re here.  Morgan you take Prentiss and Rossi around back.  Reid, J.J., you’re with me.  Remember that his profile indicates he wants this to end with suicide by cop.  Be careful.”

                Morgan throws Reid a quick glance as they pull on their vests, uncomfortable with sending Reid into a potential fire fight not ten minutes after what Morgan can only describe as a complete breakdown.  Reid was already looking at him though, like he had been waiting for it.  Flashing Reid a playful smile, Morgan snatches the Velcro strap from his hand and gives it a forceful tug, causing Reid to lose his footing.  Catching Reid by his shoulder, Morgan tilts his face close to Reid’s, meeting his eyes before dragging his hand deliberately across the newly secured strap. 

                Reid pushes away from him, blushing furiously and Morgan, unable to help himself, waggles his eyebrows at him.  The eye roll he receives in response looks like it may have strained something, but Morgan’s taunt is cut off by the go ahead signal from their SWAT leader and they have to be agents again. 

                A woman, Morgan can only barely tell through the full body armor, waves Morgan into the church followed closely by Prentiss and Rossi.  The tension builds with every room they clear, knowing they’re that much closer to a maniac with a firearm when they hear a shot ring out.  Adrenaline pumps through him as he now runs down the narrow hall of this enormous church.  Rounding a corner he sees Hotch lowering his gun and cool relief washes through him at the look on his face; grim, but resolved.  The Unsub is dead, but their team is safe.   

                Instinct pulls his eyes across the room and for the second time that night Reid’s gaze is waiting for him.  His head tilts sideways slightly, eyebrows furrowing in a look of confusion that seems out of place on Reid.  As though completely unconsciously, he takes a step towards Morgan, nearly tripping an officer walking passed.  This appears to bring him back to himself and he quickly breaks the eye contact, gaze skittering across the room until it lands on something by the doorway that makes his cheeks blaze red.  Mogan jerks his head around, searching for the cause of his reaction when he sees J.J. shooting Reid a concerned look, her eyes darting between the two of them.  Something like guilt creeps its way into Morgan’s gut at the expression on her face and he grabs his phone out of his pocket to update Garcia, eager for a friendly voice.

                Hotch wants them all to crash at the motel for the few hours they have until check out, but Morgan knows there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep and for once it has nothing to do with the case.  Across the hall before he even realizes he’s made the decision, he stares at Reid’s door long enough to decide the key should really be for emergencies only.  His knock echoes down the corridor and Morgan winces, an apology to the surrounding quiet before he hears fumbling from inside the room and the door stutters open, its path hindered by Reid’s ever present mess. 

                “Hey!” Reid looks surprised, stepping over some clothes to fit himself into the marginal opening he’d managed.  “I was just about to come over to you.”

                “You okay?”  Morgan returns Reid’s surprise, it’s rare that Reid doesn’t take advantage of the time they’re given to rest, if not to sleep then at least to read or just think.

                “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He pauses, looking unsure of himself.  “I meant for you.  To check up on you.”  Morgan frowns, bemused.  “I know how the religious stuff can get to you.”

                 He’s jittery, eyes meeting Morgan’s and then darting quickly away.  Morgan pushes the door the rest of the way open, the clutter on the floor giving him little trouble and moves past Reid into the room.  Reid continues to look out into the hall for a moment, as though Morgan hadn’t moved before slowly sliding the door back into place with a click.

                “I want to finish up our talk from earlier.”  He moves to the cheap pine desk, a motel classic, propping himself on the edge with his arms crossed over his chest.

                “I don’t really know what more there is to talk about.”  He’s clearly being sincere, no trace of the attitude that would normally accompany that statement, but Morgan just stares at him, expectant.  “I mean I told you everything.”  Morgan doesn’t move. “So I’m not sure— I mean I don’t—” He gives up.  “What do you want me to say?”  It’s a genuine question, uncertainty pinching his expression.

                “You told me you literally ripped your heart from your own chest for us, killed yourself for us, but the worst part of this nightmare for you is that you can’t get to us in time.”  Reid shrugs and Morgan aches.  “That isn’t okay Reid.”

                “You act like it actually happened, like I’m actually” —he tosses his hands up, searching for the right words— “ _killing_ myself.”

                “But you are!  Look at what you’ve been doing to yourself, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing!”

                “I’m not tearing out my heart—”

                “Reid you’re scratching yourself bloody on a nightly basis, you’re torturing yourself for things that haven’t even happened, that won’t happen—”

                “You can’t know that!  Maybe you’ll never be locked away in some room, but you can’t tell me that a day might come when one of you gets hurt because I got it _wrong,_ because I _should_ have the answer and I _don’t_!”  Chest heaving, Reid’s eyes go wide and drop to the floor like he didn’t realize the words were true until he heard them out loud.

                 Morgan is frozen in place, completely at a loss. He never realized the pressure Reid is under, never truly appreciated how much they rely on him to always have the statistic, the solution. To always _know._ But he’s more than that.  He is so much more than that and he has no idea.  Morgan crosses the short distance between them, taking Reid’s face in his hands and bringing them eye to eye.

                “It is not your job to have the answer, it is not your job to get it right every time.  You can’t do this to yourself; no one is built to survive this kind of pressure, not even you. You are so much more than that amazing brain of yours kid.  You have heart, you have _soul_ man, more than anyone I’ve ever met and that’s what makes you vital to this team.  Million point IQ or no.” 

                Reid’s eyes are only getting bigger, panic and— Morgan feels Reid’s jaw clench under his fingers and he pushes his thumb over the joint in tender admonishment. Reid’s ever expanding eyes slam shut, letting out a hard breath and something snaps.  It’s just them and this _heat._   His mouth bruises over Reid’s, all tongue and teeth, clumsy in a way he’s never been with anyone else. Reid’s arms wrap around his neck, dragging him closer, panting out incoherent commands that Morgan is desperate to follow, but won’t break away to decipher. 

                Never taking his mouth from Reid’s, Morgan walks them to the bed while his fingers fly over Reid’s shirt buttons, flipping them open one by one.  Hands are tearing at Morgan’s jeans and he rolls his hip into the sensation of Reid being so close.  The edge of the mattress catches them both by surprise, taking Reid out at the knees and Morgan is on top of him, pressing down into the new found contact.  Reid scrabbles at the hem of Morgan’s shirt, yanking it over his head as Morgan makes quick work of Reid’s khakis, sitting up to pull them from his legs. 

                From his new vantage point he sees all of Reid laid out for him and the fading scars across his skin halt Morgan’s movements.  Gasping breaths slow, the sight dissolving his urgency and leaving in its place a tenderness that is completely foreign to him.  With careful movements, he smoothes his hands over Reid’s newly bared stomach, tracing the physical manifestation of a pain he cannot name.  Reid stutters over his breath, fingers clutching at the sheets like a life line, but otherwise completely still.

                Ghosting over his chest, he tilts Reid’s head back, exposing his neck and Reid is staring at him— something like awe locking their eyes together as Morgan leans in, placing a quiet kiss over his pulse.  There’s a whisper that sounds too much like his name and he sinks his teeth into Reid’s skin.  Hips rocket into Morgan’s, Reid crying out, bringing his arms around Morgan’s back to pull them flush together as he wraps his legs around Morgan’s waist.  They’re rutting against one another, hips meeting at a harsher and harsher rhythm and Morgan loses himself in Reid beneath him.

                A book falls to the floor, sending another pile tumbling to the ground and Morgan wonders if this is what it would be like in Reid’s actual bed.  To have Reid in his bed.  _He’s going to find out_. The realization burns through him and he pushes a hand under Reid’s neck, bringing their foreheads together.

                “Please, Morgan.” The words are a rush of heat over Morgan’s lips and everything pulls tight, his pleasure spiking.

                 Reid shudders underneath him, wet warmth spreading between them.  Panting, Morgan makes a move to roll off of him, but is held in place by Reid’s legs tightening around his waist.  Lifting his head, he brushes the hair from Reid’s face, fingers combing through the soft strands and Reid is desperately looking anywhere else.

                “Hey pretty boy.” Reid’s eyes clamp shut and Morgan finally gets to see how far down that blush goes.  “Wanna see those beautiful brown eyes pretty boy.”  Reid may not be able to see his smile, but Morgan knows he can hear it and his eyes crack open, hesitant.  “There they are.” 

                Grinning now, Morgan brushes his lips over Reid’s laugh lines and he turns his head to catch Morgan’s mouth, timid like how Morgan would have expected to have seen him at the beginning.  He hums into the contact, encouraging and Reid must take it to heart because he’s pushing himself up on an elbow, eager as his other arm hooks around Morgan’s shoulders.

                “We should get some sleep.”  Morgan mumbles into Reid’s mouth, knowing how tired Reid must be, how tired they both are.  Assuming Reid would be on the same page, he’s caught off guard when Reid stiffens, drawing away from Morgan’s hold.

                “Yeah, you should probably get back to your room.” The statement knocks the wind out of Morgan, a tangle of hurt and disappointment clouding his vision for a moment before he sees right through it.

                “You want me to go?” 

                “Want you—? You said—”

                “I said we should get some sleep, like in a go wipe ourselves down and curl up in bed kinda way.”

                “Oh”

                “Yeah, oh.  So are you cool with that?”

                “I’d be cooler with it if we had a change of sheets.”

                “Well look at you pretty boy, already so high maintenance.  Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”  Morgan barks out a laugh at the expression on Reid’s face.  He’s stammering over himself, mouth opening and closing at the injustice of Morgan’s statement.

                “I am not high maintenance!”  Is all he manages to produce in the end, tone ripe with indignation.  Morgan is shaking with laughter as he maneuvers himself under the covers, patting the spot next to him.

                “Then hop on in.” 

                Reid rolls his eyes, but settles next to Morgan, curling up to his side despite still looking miffed.  Reaching to turn out the light, something catches Morgan’s eye and he stills. 

                “Reid, what are these?”  Morgan holds the objects up for Reid to see and he instantly colors, lunging across Morgan to grab them out of his hands.

                “Nothing! Morgan, give them—” He can’t quite reach them, Morgan’s arm extending as far as it can from the bed.

                “You’re not getting them back until you tell me.”  Ceasing his efforts, Reid glares at Morgan before shifting back against the head board in defeat.

                “They’re to keep me from scratching myself.” Baffled, Morgan brings the pot holders and duct tape back into his line of site, looking back and forth between the two of them. It clicks.

                “This is handling it?”  He isn’t sure if he’s angry or amused, thinking he’ll settle for disbelieving.

                “Yes, it is!  Why do you think so many of my cuts have healed so well?  For the past few weeks I’ve been taping them to my hands before I go to sleep and haven’t had a scratch on me since.”

  _The past few weeks_ — Morgan’s feels his muscles go taught, hands balling around the pot holders.  This must have been going on for at least a month if Reid _started_ with the mitts a few weeks ago and Morgan hadn’t noticed a damn thing.

                 The anger dissipates almost instantly when he looks back up and sees Reid’s eyes flitting between the pot holders and his hands fidgeting in his lap, having sensed the change in Morgan’s demeanor.  He thought Morgan was mad at him. He couldn’t be more wrong.  With a deliberate slowness, Morgan reaches over and takes Reid’s hands, carefully sliding the pot holders over one and then the other.  Reid is staring down at them, Morgan’s hand wrapped tightly around Reid’s mitt.

                 “I don’t think I’ll need them tonight.”  He says it as though it’s news, like he just found out and thought Morgan should know. 

                Morgan smiles, bringing the gloved hand up to his lips, “Just in case.”

 


End file.
